


Matthew Remembers

by Oddness101



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Cold War, Colonies, Gen, Historical Fantasy, I wrote this for Canada Day, I'm not even Canadian what the heck, Kinda, No Romance, Papa France (Hetalia), What Have I Done, World War I, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 00:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11368866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oddness101/pseuds/Oddness101
Summary: Matthew remembers his history. He remembers everything, the good and the bad. He remembers everyone who took care of him, and all that he's done. He remembers the wars, and he remembers peace. Matthew remembers.Canada remembers.





	Matthew Remembers

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this early in the morning and researched til my fingers bled. Happy Canada Day!

Matthew remembers everything.

He observes the towering mountains, rolling into foothold in the distance. For all his years of staring, those have never truly changed. When he was small, hardly more than a thought, a spark of an idea in the heart of a few colonial Frenchmen, he would stare up at these stoic, silent mountains. He sees the evergreen forests, sees the creatures that roam them. He remembers a time when those trees were merely saplings, and the most ancient of animals in the wood were not born, nor their grandparents. He watches the clouds drift on aimlessly, watches the birds swoop and soar among them. Those change with the whims of the wind, staying for days or fleeing in minutes. Never predictable, in all his decades of memories. He remembers years gone by as he stares through the warped window of the house he built himself.

* * *

Matthew remembers oh-so-long ago, being called by a different name, in a different language, by different people. They called him Vinland, and wondered why he stayed merely an infant for all the years of their stay. They spoke a tongue he can no longer recall, but it was not like the elegant French or flowing English he now speaks. Them, the three with the hair of flax and caramel and gold. Them, the Three with the eyes of sea and sky and sapphire. Them, the Three he know knows as Lukas and Berwald and Mathias. He remembers Him, the small one with hair of ash and eyes of amethyst. Emil, They call Him now. He remembers Them and Him leaving in their longboats, leaving him in this vast land that was as much his as he was its. He wonders if Them and Him have made the connection between little Vinland and the Matthew he is today.

* * *

Matthew remembers his native peoples being puzzled by him. What was this strange babe with snow skin and cornsilk hair and bluebell eyes? They brought him to the Wise Woman or the Wise Man. For each tribe that came upon him, there was one. Beautiful and ancient, the Wise Woman would cradle him and croon him a lullaby in languages forgotten, and she would sigh, knowing that his appearance meant her end. Handsome and carrying the weight of centuries, the Wise Man would hold him and tell him stories in tongues none speak, understanding that his arrival meant that his time was coming to a close. Invariably, these Wise People would care for him for a few days, then leave him out in the snow for another to find. He remembers their silent resignation to their fading, and wonders if any still walk his lands.

* * *

Matthew remembers Papa, who gave him a name and a home and a family. Papa, with his sunlight tresses and forget-me-not eyes. _Matthieu_ , he would call. _Come show Papa your new clothes. I'm coming Papa, just a moment!_ And Papa would laugh that unique laugh of his when Matthew would run to him with his waistcoat on backwards and his hat falling off, exclaiming, _Don't I look grown up, Papa? One day I'll be just as big as you!_ And Papa would smile and fix his little Matthieu's clothes, saying, _yes, indeed, dearest. But for now, you are my little boy._ Papa, who loved him enough to stay. For a little while. Matthew remembers his hurt and confusion as Papa, with dry eyes and a serious face, gave the preteen him away. Papa, who, when given the chance, didn't want him back.

* * *

Matthew remembers Arthur, who was polite. Arthur, who cared for him out of duty and not much else. He remembers looking into grass, no, emerald, no, acid green eyes and seeing none of the love Papa's eyes had had. Arthur, who doted and poured affection on another little boy, one smaller than him, one that Arthur said was Matthew's little brother. Arthur renamed him and then ignored him. Suddenly, he was no longer Matthieu, Papa's little boy, he was Matthew, Alfred's Big Brother. He remembers fading into the scenery, becoming part of the backdrop. Three months after he'd left, Arthur found him, and asked why he hadn't come home the last couple of nights. Matthew found that Arthur hadn't even realized he'd moved away. Matthew remembers that icicle through his heart.

Matthew remembers Alfred, _of course_ he remembers Alfred. Little Alfie was practically his smaller clone way back when. Snow skin and cornsilk hair and bluebell eyes, though Alfred's were closer to columbine. Suddenly, Alfie grew up. He was no longer Little Alfie, delicate and precious. No, he was Alfred F. Jones, strong and robust. His hair and skin darkened, and he began to carry a musket. Then he fought with Arthur, and won. His eyes began to darken too. Just not in the same way. Now, Matthew became Little Mattie, Alfred's smaller clone. He drifted further into the background. Matthew remembers asking Arthur if he could move out, and getting a distracted **_Hmm? Oh, yes, sure. You haven't seen Alfred around, have you, um, ah…_** _Matthew_ ** _. Yes, of course, Matthew. So, have you seen him?_ ** Matthew remembers the dropping of his stomach and muttered apologies after Arthur, the man he'd come to think of as an older brother, forgot who he was, in favor of Alfred.

* * *

 Matthew remembers the War. God, he wishes he didn't, but he remembers the War. The Great War, they'd called it. The War to End All Wars. He watched, horrified, as people he knew, his friends, chose sides and tried to murder each other. Ivan and Heracles and Alfred and Arthur and Kiku and Francis ( _Papa_! He'd cried when he heard the news) against Ludwig and Yekaterina and Gilbert and Feliks and Toris and Roderich and Elizabeta and Sadik. Some of his friends switched sides, like Feliciano and Lovino. Others, ~~(the smart ones, he thought sometimes in the dead of night)~~ stayed out of it. Matthias and Lilli and Berwald and Lukas and Vash and Antonio. Matthew, he was brought into the War by Arthur. Matthew remembers trench warfare. He remembers his men, (his friends, his brothers, his _children_ ) dropping like flies in the cold of winter. He remembers the disease that stormed through his ranks, deadly as the enemies across no-man's-land.

Matthew remembers the Second Battle of Ypres, staring, unable to comprehend the horrors that Ludwig had wrought upon his and his Papa’s men. So many died that day, with chlorine gas in their lungs and terror on their faces. He remembers being overcome with sheer fury at the man across the land. He could feel Ludwig across the shell-pocked expanse, and he was terrified of the damage he could now do. Matthew remembers gathering his remaining troops to close ranks where so many had fallen. He was nearly taken down that day, with gas in his lungs and artillery fire in his shoulders. But no, he was made of tougher stuff than his men. Made of mountains and forests and glaciers and vast, open skies. They took many things from him that day, but his life was not one of them. They took his perfect eyesight and his innocence, all fantasies of honorable warfare. He left that battle a different man.

Matthew remembers Vimy Ridge, pushing forward with his division. The Red Line, Black Line, and Blue Line overtaken in a matter of hours. He remembers the Hundred Days Offensive, spearheading the attack on the weakened armies of Ludwig. He remembers fighting with mechanical efficiency, all semblance of mercy for the opposition gone. It was torn from him the moment he saw over 2,000 of his men (his children, his _sons,_ his little soldier boys who won't come marching home) choke on the yellow-green air, vomit up their last meal, and breathe their last all around him. The bodies piled until only a third were left alive, marred by chemical burns and the image of their brothers in arms falling around them. So many dead, and not a single bullet fired. He remembers making Ludwig _pay_. Some call his advance Canada's Hundred Days, and Abel sends him flowers every year to thank him. Matthew remembers being so, _so_ relieved at the end of the War. Surely that was the end of major conflict.

* * *

 Matthew remembers the Great Depression. Matthew remembers falling very, very sick as his production rates and national income fell drastically. Only Alfred had it worse. Even then, Matthew’s illness was more severe, because his economy quickly became a quagmire. He remembers Bloody Sunday, being among the officers to evacuate the post office of protesters. He was horrified as they became violent. He remembers the sheer monotony as his employment rates dropped. Had he not been made of valleys and mountains and clouds and sea and sky, he would not have survived. _The Great Depression,_ he would say. _Aptly named._

* * *

 Matthew remembers the second War. God, it _terrified_ him. Ludwig was unstoppable. He took more and more and more, drunk off his need for revenge. Kiku turned against those he had fought beside, and Feliciano and Lovino joined forces with Ludwig and Gilbert. Ludwig took Feliks, then attacked Papa. Matthew joined the War then, sending aid and weapons and ammunition to Arthur . It wasn't enough. Matthew trained pilots and ground soldiers, himself taking to the air overseas. He defended his Papa, and when that failed, he defended Arthur's homeland. He led squadrons with bombs across Ludwig's land, destroyed Feliciano’s precious cities.

He was among those few pilots sent to help Ivan against Gilbert, and he hadn't seen something so gruesome in all of his centuries of existence. Natalia and Yekaterina worked as snipers, taking out enemies they couldn't see the faces of. Toris, Raivis, and Eduard were ground soldiers. Ivan was too. The others were in different places, spared the trauma of watching that battle. The Battle of Stalingrad, it is now called. The bloodiest battle in history. He watched as Soviets sprinted, unarmed, towards Gilbert's forces. They wrenched weapons out of cold, dead hands and used each other as meat shields. He saw Ivan, eyes alight with the fury of a thousand suns, wade through the oceans of his men's blood. He saw Toris, seemingly disconnected with the world, firing and stabbing and fighting and nearly dancing. Eduard stayed back, firing when necessary, but staying out of the fray. Raivis was lost in the mess of bodies, unconscious. The only sign of Yekaterina and Natalia was the occasional officer falling dead with no source. Matthew remembers Gilbert, terrified, but fighting. His men were falling around him, and still he stood. Matthew knows he will never forget that battle and it's bloodshed.

Matthew remembers Ludwig's defeat. Lovino had left his side, and the man who drove Ludwig mad, a horrible man who killed over seven million innocents, died. Ludwig slowly returned to being Ludwig. Finally, he was defeated. Matthew remembers being among those who were pointing deadly weapons at Ludwig. He remembers his shock as Ludwig raised his head, smiled bitterly, and whispered, _**I'm sorry,**_ as he raised a handgun toward his own head and pulled the trigger. Matthew remembers the blood and brains littering the floor, and his horror as Ludwig began to heal. He left.

* * *

 Matthew remembers watching his allies split up Ludwig's land. Half went to Ivan, who took Gilbert as well. The rest was split between Alfred, Arthur, and Papa. He remembers the tension between Alfred and Ivan. He was terrified, because if they went to war, the whole world would be caught in the crossfire. The Earth that had borne and sustained him for countless centuries would be razed to nothing. Ivan went to space. Alfred went to the moon. Alfred made bombs, bigger and more destructive than anything ever seen before. Ivan made some, then moved them close to Alfred. Alfred had a thriving city within Ivan's borders, so Ivan barricaded it. No one in, no one out. No supplies available for those inside the Walls. The people would have starved, if not for Alfred's pilots. They brought in food and medicine, twice an hour for eleven months. Ivan gave up the blockade. The walls stayed, but supplies went in and out. Matthew remembers Ludwig and Gilbert sitting on opposite sides of that Wall, brothers so close and yet so far. He remembers thanking the Lord for Alfred.

Then, from his unique position behind Ivan and above Alfred, he remembers noticing something. Where Alfred was only gaining power, Ivan began to struggle. The others that lived with Ivan noticed too, and fought so they could leave. Ivan could keep up no longer. His power collapsed, and Matthew remembers watching as Ivan was left alone and helpless in the snow, much like Matthew himself was all those years ago. The Wall was now a priority in his mind, to reunite the brothers forcefully separated.

He remembers being there (just him, none of his soldiers or his officials. Just him, Matthew) sledgehammer in hand, the day the Wall fell. He watched as the soldiers pushed down the barricade, and the first person through was Ludwig. He remembers following him over to the East, seeing him collapse with Gilbert in his arms. The normally stoic blonde bawling his eyes out at seeing his big brother once again. The snow-haired man weak and frail-looking, but wonderfully, _gloriously alive_. He remembers them spotting him, and knowing he was one of them. He remembers Ludwig gazing up at him with teary, glazed eyes full of the sky, and Gilbert smiling with eyes of ruby. _**Thank you,**_ they said. **_Thank you._**

* * *

Matthew remembers everything. Everything he has done, all his people, all his lands. Canada.

Canada remembers everything.

**Author's Note:**

> My friend and I both wrote something for Canada Day. She had cute Prucan fluffy goodness, and I ended up with the monstrosity you just read. I meant for this to be happy, dammit!  
> I think that every nation, instead of fighting one on one, fights among their men. They can die, but unless their country no longer has people, they will heal.


End file.
